


Obsession

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-28
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul gets to spend a little time with his beloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Evil!Paul challenge. Though he's not quite evil; more seriously distrubed.

Paul came to consciousness slowly, letting the grey-yellow light of mid-morning pull him gently out of sleep. Slipping out of dreams, he began to stretch his legs, letting his toes wiggle and curl. The sheet was cool as Paul twisted his hips; the soft fabric slid over his half-hard erection like a thousand strands of a lover's hair, teasing with its gentleness. His spine cracked as he arched up, stretching sleep-sore muscles, feeling out places he'd strained the night before.

When he reached out with his arms, Paul's right hand grazed warm, pliant skin. Eyes still closed, Paul smiled lazily, turning his stretching into a roll as he curled up around the lax body beside him, idly rubbing his hips against a finely muscled thigh. "Jack," he murmured, breathing around the world, enjoying its taste in his morning-sour mouth. He ran his fingers across the rigid bumps of Jack's stomach and felt muscles tremble; his love was already awake. Paul nuzzled blindly, finding out that special place where his face fit perfectly against the steady pulse of Jack's neck.

Paul let his fingers explore, stroking over skin he knew intimately, inside and out, every inch already committed to his memory. He knew the story of every scar, the location of the ones now healed and forgotten. Here was once Jack's womb, from his brief tenure as a Jaffa. There, that slight give in the flesh of his left arm--where Jack had cut himself as a child, on a dare, so deep he'd been sent to the hospital. That small, twisted ridge near his hipbone, that was once a gaping wound torn open by a stray piece of metal, blown apart when a Jeep exploded. Paul knew them all--their stories, their textures, their tastes.

Paul opened his mouth and ran his tongue along the tender line of Jack's throat. His neck was spicy with the sour-salt of sweat, the slightly bitter taste of unwashed skin. Perhaps they could take a shower together this morning, enjoy a little quiet time before Paul had to go out and complete his errands. It was the simple times, the quiet times, that Paul enjoyed the most. Just being able to touch Jack and lie down beside him was a joy. There was no way on this earth or in the universe that Paul would surrender that joy.

Luxuriating in the extra time he had--the alarm had yet to ring, so he had more than his allotted half-hour to play--Paul shifted and wiggled until he was laying completely on top of Jack, their bodies aligned. Reluctantly, Paul lifted his face from the warmth of Jack's skin, opening his eyes so he could look down at the face of his beloved.

"Are you going to behave today, or will I have to punish you again?"

Jack's lips moved around the large rubber ball that held his mouth open and muffled the grunting noises he tried to make from his dry throat. His dark eyes were clear, narrowed in anger as he tried to speak. No doubt something witty and acerbic. Jack was never one to be caught without a comeback.

Paul sighed heavily and closed his eyes with resignation, letting his head fall until he rested forehead-to-forehead with Jack. For a moment he concentrated on the easy puffs of air that slipped from Jack's nose, tickling his lip. Paul lifted his hands out of the sheets, sliding them over Jack's up-stretched arms so he could cup his face in his palms. The strained muscles of his jaw shifted just the slightest as he tried to bite down on the gag, but after a full night of being held open, his jaw no longer had the strength to do anything. Jack started to breathe harder, making Paul's lip feel cold.

Paul ran his thumbs over the quivering ridge of Jack's nostrils. Such small holes to breathe out of. He pressed his right thumb into the curve and felt the flesh fold beneath his touch, closing off half of Jack's air supply. With his left hand, he petted down the side of Jack's face, counting the rasping pricks of his unshaved skin.

"You poor baby," Paul said softly, rubbing his nose across the tip of Jack's nose. "Your mouth must hurt after last night." Paul settled his hand against the strong line of his jaw, fingers in Jack's hair, with just his thumb to outline the rigid bump of the overtaxed joint. He began to lightly stroke Jack's jaw, concentrating on relaxing the joint enough to ease away some of the pain. "You know I really hate hurting you like this."

Jack grunted at that, his head tilting away from Paul's soft touch. His breathing was softer now; Jack wasn't one to panic for long. Always in control... it was one of the many things Paul loved about Jack, something that they had in common.

It just took a slight tilt of his wrist to press his other thumb against Jack's nose. Almost instantly Jack was thrashing his head from side to side, trying to dislodge Paul's grip on his face. Paul sat back far enough to keep his face safe from his flailing head, but kept his grip easily. Jack's face was quickly growing red, and his lips flared around the gagging ball, trying to suck in oxygen between his teeth and the choking rubber. It had been too long, however, and his muscles were too exhausted to give him more than tiny, unsatisfying sips.

"Your eyes are so expressive, Jack. I could always tell what you were thinking, like I could see straight through to your brain and read your thoughts. Can you read my mind, Jack?" His thoughts were sliding back, to when he first invited Jack to his apartment. How the man had fought, convulsing beneath him, much as he was now.

The place where their chests met was hot and slick, skin sticking together. Jack's lungs spasmed, almost like hiccups, as they tried in vain to breathe fresh air. The stagnant air groaned in Jack's throat as it was quickly pushed in and out of his lungs. The blue in his veins stood out more than the red, giving his skin an almost purple colour.

"I loved the feel of your hands around my throat. Squeezing, squeezing... There's nothing like it, is there?" Paul dipped his head, licking the stretched and chapped skin of Jack's mouth. "The rush, the panic, the high. If you had squeezed just a little harder..."

Jack wheezed in a breath the second Paul's thumbs moved away from his nose. He turned his face towards the pillow, and Paul let him, moving his hands to massage Jack's arms instead as he pushed his face back into the warm, inviting curve of Jack's neck. His skin was wet with sweat and so very hot against Paul's face; when he mouthed the frantic pulse, Jack's flesh tasted almost sweet.

The alarm buzzed, drowning out the tender sound of Jack's quiet sobbing aspirations. Groaning, Paul reached out and slapped the clock button, shutting it off. He rolled off Jack's body and sat up on the edge of the bed. He still had a half hour before he absolutely needed to start his morning, but he was suddenly out of the mood to play.

Paul glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who refused to look at him. As much as the bonds would allow, Jack had his body turned away from Paul, everything about his posture rejecting him. "I'm sorry. I guess you weren't in the mood this morning. I suppose a shower is out of the question?" Jack ignored him, his chest rising in jerky, desperate waves as he breathed quickly and deeply through his nose. "Fine, sulk," Paul said, raising his hands in surrender as he stood and crossed the room to the bathroom door.

Paul ran through his morning routine quickly. His clothes were already laid out when he emerged from the shower, clean-shaven and hair perfect. To punish Jack, he kept his towel on as he crossed the room, and kept his back turned as he dressed. If he couldn't adjust his attitude, then he didn't deserve a free peep show. His good mood ruined, Paul barely paused to kiss Jack's forehead before he stepped out of the room.

The electronic lock beeped pleasantly as Paul keyed in the code. The locks slid into place, bolting the thick metal door to the wall like a vault. Snagging a bagel from the bag in the fridge, Paul left his apartment without so much as a backwards glance at the bedroom.

***

Daniel's face was pale. He looked as though he hadn't seen the sun in weeks. It was a strange look on him--it made his eyes bright and his jaw more pronounced. He looked positively savage. His mood wasn't much more pleasant. It seemed everyone had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

"Still no word?" Paul asked the moment he rounded the corner of the briefing room and came into Daniel's sightline.

Daniel wrinkled his face, an odd movement of flesh that successfully edged his glasses back up his nose as he marked his place with one hand and wrote notes with the other. "You're not supposed to be here today."

"And you went back to Colorado a week ago," Paul counted breezily, taking a seat and scanning the papers scattered in a short pile a short distance from Daniel's books. News reports, scribbled phone messages, a couple official-looking police documents... but nothing conclusive. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Paul looked up to see Daniel bent back over his work, his eyes squinting. He looked as though it wouldn't take much to make him drop face-first into the book, dead asleep. His hand, however, was kinetic; the pen danced erratically over the page, beating a heavy rhythm against the scribbled paper. The table jiggled as Daniel's knee bounced beneath it at such a pace, it was nearly a blur. "I wasn't offering, I was asking. And I think you've had enough."

Daniel just shrugged off Paul's words, tilting his head to the side. Barely visible over the books was a carafe with a papercup tower against the far side of the room. When Paul stood, he saw the litter of crushed and soaked-through cups around it. When would they invest in Styrofoam for these occasions?

He poured himself a luke-warm cup and swallowed it down, trying not to taste its age or the paper of the cup. He made a face as he crushed the thin cup in his fist, making a mental note to order in some fresh coffee and recover his cup from his office. When he turned around, he had a perfect view of Daniel's work.

The books were the typical translation volumes Paul had gotten used to seeing while working with the SGC. They must have shipped some of them over to Washington. It was probably the only way Daniel could negotiate being able to stay. The notepad Daniel was beating to death with his pen was covered with senseless markings, doodles that even Paul could tell were not any written language.

"How long have you been here?"

Daniel's head jerked, as though he had been about to fall asleep before Paul spoke. He tipped his wrist, glancing at his watch. "What day is it?"

"You should go get some sleep. Killing yourself won't help anyone."

"I could say the same to you. It is your day off. Shouldn't you be at home, in bed, enjoying some away time?"

"Hi Pot. I'm Kettle."

Daniel snorted softly at the joke, too tired to keep up with the conversation. He stared back down at the page he'd been on since Paul entered the room.

Silently, Paul stalked across the room and slid the book out from under Daniel's hand. Daniel started to protest, but Paul easily batted away his hands. "You weren't looking at it anyway," Paul pointed out, holding it above his head. Daniel narrowed his eyes and tried to vault out of his chair, but he suddenly lost his footing and fell back hard. The soft, rolling chair slid back a foot and tipped precariously on edge before Daniel's flailing limbs steadied it. For a moment, Daniel just sat there blinking blankly at the floor.

"Well, at least you actually look awake now," Paul muttered drolly.

Daniel snorted again, a short, sharp laugh not quite amused. He slipped off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "I guess you're right; I am pretty tired."

"There's a couch in my office," Paul offered, his thoughts winding blissfully to having his coffee cup and a real steaming cup of coffee. When Daniel seemed to think it over, Paul added in softly, "The second I hear anything, you'll be the first to know. You need to sleep, or you won't be good to him when they find him."

Daniel nodded, silently agreeing. It was pretty easy to get him out of the chair. Daniel docilely followed Paul down the corridors, weaving his way behind Paul like a drunk. Daniel nearly melted into the couch when Paul let him into his office, not bothering to turn on the lights. As Paul snagged his cup off his desk, Daniel's dreamy voice floated up through the darkness. "The second you hear something about Jack, whether it is confirmed or not, you wake me."

Paul saluted in the general direction of the couch. "Will do, sir." But Daniel was already asleep.

THE END


End file.
